


What Joker Needs

by quiet__tiger



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Joker loves Batman, M/M, Pining, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: Joker still yearns for more, even when he knows he can't have it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [What Batman Needs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10644270).
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal Apr. 5th, 2006.

Joker paced around his hideout, trying not to agitate his hyenas.  They watched him walk back and forth, scuffing his feet on the floor.  He glared at the cats, and they whined.

“You miss her too, don’t you?”  He went over to his pets and rubbed their heads, giving them what comfort he could.  “Don’t worry, pretties, I’m breaking Harley out tonight.  She’ll be back again to take care of us.”

He missed Harley, he really did.  It was lonely without her around, even though when she _was_ around he had to fight not to kill her.  All in good time, that.

The plan was set: give the guards at Arkham a dose of his Joker Gas, steal a uniform, take out anyone he met on the way, find the keys or use explosives if necessary, unlock her cell, and drag her out.  Reverse.  He’d done it before, and no one ever seemed to learn.  Maybe they didn’t care, knowing he or Harley would be caught soon enough.

By the Batman.

As he thought about Batman, Joker stroked his hyenas harder.  Batman, with his rubber or whatever it was.  Batman, with his steely-white glare.  Batman, with his fancy toys.  How many of those had he used on Joker?

What did it mean when you were turned on by gas pellets going off in your face?

Joker stood and resumed his pacing.  How long had it been since he’d last seen the Batman.  Two weeks?  Three?  Time flies when your trying to plan your girlfriend’s escape.  The weather also hadn’t been favorable to voyeurism, unfortunately.

He stood and stretched, then headed into the sleeping quarters of the hideout.  Joker found his box of Batman’s photos and dumped the collection onto his mattress.  Sifting through the fairly substantial pile, Joker pulled out his favorite photos and clippings.  He then got comfortable, and opened his pants.

He had a few interrupted hours to kill before he could round up his goons and leave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The plan had gone off fairly well.  Joker had gotten Harley into the van jut as Batman had shown up, dark and sexy and angry.  Batman hit him a few times, grunting with the effort as he tried to subdue him.  Batman had seemed particularly vexed, his touches harder, lower.

Luckily, Joker’s goons had gotten in the way before the Batman could completely knock him out.  They were able to draw the Dark Knight’s attention, and one drove Joker and Harley out of there.

Once back at the hideout, Joker had gotten rid of the goon.  He was then free to care for Harley, who was still too doped out on sedatives to react much to him.  It seemed as if the people at Arkham finally got a clue about keeping the crazies tightly under thumb.  Harley just watched him lazily, her eyes glazed.

That was fine.  He didn’t have to lie about why he had an erection.

Eventually Harley came around and looked at him with those big eyes.  “You broke me out, Mistah J?”

“But of course, I couldn’t leave you in there with those lunatics.  And the inmates probably weren’t pleasurable, either.”  He sat on the mattress next to her, and she reached out and played with his tie.

“So whatdya do while they had me locked up?  Nothin’ too interestin’, I hope.”

“Oh, nothing I wouldn’t have done without you.”  Except satisfy himself over and over without interruption.  His need had grown lately, and he was looking forward to the end of his and Batman’s game.  Harley would never understand why he used Batman as fodder.  She also constantly needed attention, which wasn’t good for masturbation _or_ scheming.  Giving her money to shop wasn’t always enough to get her out of the way, either.

“You mean that, Puddin’?”  Harley leaned harder against him, for comfort this time, not physical support.

“Of course.   I wouldn’t lie to you.”  Right now.

“And ya even faced the Batman to rescue me.  That’s my Puddin’.”  She closed her eyes and sighed against him.

Joker stared straight ahead and tried not to gag.

“Is there any way I can make it up to you, Mistah J?”  Those eyes were back on him again.  Imploring.  Searching.  Searing.

She didn’t even wait for him to respond, she just crawled on top of him and undid his pants.  He let her misread why he was hard.

He didn’t even make her wear the black gloves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re too good to me.”  Joker gazed down at Harley’s sleeping form, her head tucked against his pillow.  Ecstatic to be free from Arkham, Harley had pleasured him as best as he could, and it was no fault of hers that it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

She didn’t have the power, the strength, the size, the scent, the _feel_ that he needed, that he craved.

She wasn’t Batman.

“Why can’t I love you?” he murmured to her, one hand gliding up her arm to her shoulder.  “Why do I seek, desire, _need_ the Batman?  I’m crazy, but this is insane.”  Joker stood so he could pace again, and tried not to jar Harley with his movements or voice.

Before he got too far, he realized he should pull his pants back on.  He put a shirt on, too, for good measure.

“The two of us.  Me and Batman.  So different.  I create mayhem, he corrects it.  I kill for pleasure, he kills no one.  I draw his attention with theatrical violence, he responds with theatrical violence.”  He paused.  “I guess we’re not too different after all.”

Joker went into the other room, where his hyenas gnawed on the remains of their dinner.  He glanced at them briefly, then returned to his rumination.  “Just meant to be, whether or not it makes sense.  But it makes perfect sense.  You bring me out so you can come out, or I draw you out because I just can’t go for too long without you.  We play, roughly, then either I go home or you have me locked up.  Is this foreplay?  Is this just your way of preparing us for a final showdown, a final tête-à-tête?  A final tryst just you and me, in the dark, no one watching, no holds barred, a chance for us to finally express to each other that we belong to one another.”

He leaned against the wall, propped on one hand, and stared at his feet.  Idly examining his knobby toes, he realized his feet itched to move, further than the distance from wall to wall.

Two minutes later he was walking south-east down a back alley, concrete under his shoes and his camera in his pocket.  In case he came across the Dark Knight.  He didn’t want to miss any good shots.

There was a slight breeze as Joker walked the alleys, headed nowhere and yet feeling as if he should be headed _some_ where.  Underneath the scent of salt from the bay and oil from the streets, there was something else in the air.  Something dark.  Maybe dead.  The city decaying?  His peers getting their hands deeper into its cement and metallic flesh?  It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed it.

Perhaps it was why Batman stuck to the rooftops.

Why did Batman continue to fight?  He had entered a losing battle to begin with, whether that battle was for Gotham or rebuffing Joker.  He could have had Joker years ago, but he fought it and turned his attention elsewhere.  He fought everyone just as hard as he fought Joker.

But maybe not as frequently.  Joker made sure of that.  It wouldn’t do to have Batman’s attention elsewhere for too long.

He might forget about Joker.  It seemed impossible, but Joker made sure it wouldn’t be a problem, anyway.

Joker turned left and hit pay dirt a few blocks down.  Batman was fighting was looked to be muggers, a frightened-looking woman watching the action.  Batman picked one guy up and threw him into a wall, then spun and kicked a second thug.  The third thief pulled out a gun, but Batman must have seen him.   He caught the man’s wrist with one of his bat-shaped toys.

Joker ducked behind a dumpster to watch.  The Batman skillfully manhandled and restrained the three muggers, and once more Joker’s mind turned to fun games involving bondage and role-play.  To have Batman’s gloves wrapping cords around his wrists, making sure he couldn’t break free…

All for him, to demonstrate that Batman wasn’t letting him get anywhere, would never let him go, would always have him there.

Joker tried to suppress the dull ache that grew in his chest every time he thought about this for too long.  Batman wasn’t done playing with him yet, and Joker would just have to be patient.  Batman wanted him to suffer, to feel that his love was unrequited, even though Joker knew better.

Batman wanted him just as much, even if he didn’t… No.  Batman knew it.  He just loved the game too much to give in quite yet.

As Batman checked the men for identification, Joker snapped a few quick photos.  Batman jerked to attention in the direction of the flash, but after a second went back to what he was doing.  Joker was grateful for shadows, and that Batman was human and couldn’t see in the dark.  Joker didn’t want the game to end too soon, either.

Or probably Batman _could_ see, and just didn’t mind that the Joker was watching.  Aptly.  He was just perpetuating the game, after all.  Drawing it out so that when they did meet, when they did express their everything to each other, it would be that much more passionate, that much more meaningful.

Almost giddy with anticipation as his dream grew, visions of what they could have together floating in his mind, Joker quickly returned to his hideout, and Harley.  As quickly as he could when that hard, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Joker got back inside, Harley was awake.  “Where’dya go, Puddin’?  I woke up and you were gone.  It was just me all by myself.”  She sat on the mattress, sheet hugging her curves, and gave him that sexy little smile that he knew made other people weak in the knees.  It might have worked on him, but he was already worked up thanks to watching his Dark Knight.

“Just out clearing my head.  Fresh air and all that.”

“You sure you weren’t out at a strip club?”  She glanced disapprovingly at the bulge in his pants.

“Just thinking of how grateful I am to have to you home.”

“You want me to show you again how grateful I am that you came to rescue me?”  She pulled the sheet down and patted the mattress in invitation.

He may love Batman, but he wasn’t going to look a horny gift horse in the mouth.

But just because he was fucking Harley, it didn’t mean he couldn’t love Batman.  Oh, no.  Harley’s pouty lips became Batman’s stern line.  Her bouncy breasts, though he adored them, became the hard planes of Batman’s chest.  Even if it was just the suit, surely Batman had to be in good shape to do what he did, teasing Joker with every turn, kick, and punch…  Harley’s nicely-rounded hips and thighs became Batman’s strong, muscular thighs holding on to him, keeping him in place as he moved in and out of the writhing form below him.

He listened to but tried to filter out Harley’s grating cry as she came and called out his name, and when he slumped next to her after his own climax he had to fight not to whisper, “Batman.”

Harley soon fell asleep again, and Joker watched her breathe, watched her throat tick with eery beat of her heart.  This should be enough for him, but his world didn’t revolve around this.

It revolved around a man who dressed like a bat and liked to play games with him.  For now, everything would have to stay the way it was.  For now.

Joker stood and took his box from its hiding place, just for one last look at the Batman.  “Time enough, Batsy.  Time enough.”  He rubbed his finger along the most recent greasy newspaper photo, a poor shot as Batman flew away from the camera.  “You and me, Batsy, soon to be.”


End file.
